As we all know, American schools are the equivalent of locking your child in a Port-A-Potty. The toxic focus on facts and memorization leaves little room for a child’s creative mind to develop. Even worse, they fail to prepare children for the most critical thing in life: showing up the fucking French.
Like any good American, I hate the French with their striped shirts, neck scarves and overwhelming evidence that they live happier, healthier, and more fulfilling lives than Americans. However, one area where even I have to admit they demonstrate consistent, irritating superiority is in their eating habits. You will not find even one French woman chowing down on the gallon-size box of Cheddar X-treme Flavor-B-B-Banging Fishie Crackers, and I guess they have a point. We should all be eating like the French.
Of course, I am under strict spiritual requirements to avoid changing my diet, but luckily, I had the foresight to have a kid. That’s why I’m using my daughter as a guinea pig, to see if incorporating the French diet makes her a successful little asshole instead of one who just brought home a report card indicating she “Needs Improvement” in water fountain usage.
I wanted to make it fun for my child to try out a new culture, even if it’s one that has sucked for 800 years, so I bought her a jaunty beret. She flipped it upside down and asked if it was to hold her microwave pancakes. This was clearly going to be an uphill battle.
For breakfast, French children typically eat a light meal of toast and fruit. But a single piece of stale rye and a handful of berries seemed a little restrictive, so I turned to my research. Et voilà: It turns out French people enjoy un petit coffee with their breakfast, so I loaded her up on a French roast Nespresso pod. You are supposed to allow French children at least 30 minutes to eat, but after 17, she started vibrating like a wind-up toy, so I figured I better get her to school before she crashed.
French school lunches are served in many courses over a leisurely hour of eating time. This meant skipping work to supervise, but I forgot to stop at Bristol Farms, so we made do with school lunch. French children typically eat a salad course, entree, cheese course, and fruit dessert, so I carefully doled out bits of Cafeteria Joe’s meal of the day at 15-minute intervals, one bite of Taco Tuesday at a time.
My daughter got unfortunately American and impatient about the fact that her friends had been playing outside for 30 minutes before she even reached the dessert course of a packet of grape jelly. She may not be a perfect little French child yet, but she’s certainly a brat! Progress, mes amis!
I bought some of what I’m sure were laboriously handmade criossants from the pastry aisle at the bodega because mama needed a RedBull. My daughter had drank my last Nespresso this morning.
After such a heavy lunch, French children eat lightly in the evening, with a focus on vegetables. Unfortunately, my petite princesse was in a foul mood for some reason. She hurled the grated carrot salad and small portion of poached fish at my head, screaming for processed cheese.
I sent her to her room, of course, but I caught her at 2:00 AM raccoon-crawling into the top cabinet and chowing down on expired Raisinets. What have I done to get such a provincial child??
After three weeks on le diet français, I can report amazing success. In addition to her new prepubescent supermodel physique, my daughter has now undergone an amazing personality transformation! Well past her temperamental outbursts and Raisinet gorging, my daughter is now exceedingly polite. She has to be, as she’s usually on street corners in her rags, begging strangers for a crust of bread. But truly, the biggest moment for me was yesterday, when a homeless man offered her some of his wine and she rejected it as “bourgeois and pedestrian.” She’s ready for French boarding school at last!